


Personal Space

by GalahadWilder



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Identity Reveal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: Adrien Agreste was never taught to say no. Never allowed to have boundaries. So when someone finally pushes too far, Ladybug is left with a partner in pain, a crush in need of the kindness he’s never received...And a former idol she needs to murder.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 275
Kudos: 1509





	1. Boundaries

There are a lot of things that Ladybug knows about Chat Noir, but one of the most important is that he fills space. Chat is boisterous, playful, larger-than-life; when he wants to be, Chat Noir is _loud_. He may be good at erasing himself when he wants to, but no matter what he’s doing, Chat Noir’s presence is always _big_.

Which is why, when Ladybug arrives for patrol that evening, she’s immediately able to tell that something is wrong. He’s too small—he’s drawing in on himself, minimizing surface area. His eyes are glazed, a hundred miles away; they’re wandering, sliding past her. He won’t even look her in the face. He barely even acknowledges her presence.

_Little kitty on the roof, all alone without his Lady…_

“Chaton?” she says.

He doesn’t speak, his body language only growing tighter. He’s—he’s shaking.

She sits down next to him, carefully, and reaches out to place her hand on his shoulder.

Immediately, Chat shrieks, yanking away from her. His head snaps around, his pupils slit like knife blades, and his back rises, hackling and hissing, fangs bared.

Ladybug pulls her hand back. “Chaton?” she whispers, shocked. He hasn’t reacted to her like this since Sandboy—it reminds her of drowned Paris, of the boy in white. Something is _severely_ wrong.

His hiss stops mid-breath as he realizes what he’s doing. “Oh,” he says, his eyes widening in shame. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Ladybug says, trying to force down how unsettling his reaction is. This is completely unlike him: whatever is going on in his life outside of the two of them, she knows he doesn’t get enough physical touch from other human beings based on the way he leans so desperately into her hands and her space. To have him actively shy away from it is… “What’s wrong?”

He stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head, hugging his knees to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says with a trembling voice. “Had a great day.”

She blinks as her lungs twist in her chest. This whole scenario is screaming _emergency_ inside her skull. She _needs_ to do something. But based on how defensive he is, if she pushes, she’s not sure if he’ll open up or shut down.

But Ladybug is never someone who will go _through_ a problem when _around_ is an option. Lateral thinking is her strong suit; she just has to approach the situation from the side.

“What made it so great?” she says, gently. Not looking at him, not prodding. Letting him take the question on his own terms.

He chokes.

She twists, sees him wiping his mouth with his palm, and the muscles in her arm tighten as she forces herself not to reach out to him. “Kitty?”

He turns away from her, presses his palms into his knees. She can see his claws tremble. “I—I lost my… my… virginity, today,” he says.

From what Ladybug knows of boys, that would normally be something for them to brag about. Hell, Alya basically crowed about it to her for an hour after she and Nino finally moved from _Super Pinguino_ to _Ultra Pinguino_. And, despite her irrational flash of anger— _not jealousy, of course not, you’re not jealous you don’t want him_ —it’s hard to begrudge him moving on after four years, picking someone else. But the way he sounds when he says it… he’s utterly broken. Something in him hurts from this, and there’s no way it’s because he’s in love with her. That would sound apologetic, not… not shattered. Not torn apart.

“Were you scared?” she says, because that’s the only thing she can think of.

He shudders, utterly silent, holding his palm over his face. His thumb drifts toward his lips; the claw shortens as she watches, and she’s struck by how lost, how childlike, he suddenly looks when he presses down between his teeth.

“Chat?” she says.

“I… didn’t want to,” he responds, his voice small and very far away.

Her bones fracture into ice, frost crashing through her veins. “ _What?_ ” she hisses.

He laughs, a mirthless, defeated laugh. “Isn’t that… isn’t it stupid?” he says. “I was—I’m supposed to want it. I _do_ want it.” He presses his palm into his forehead. “I don’t… I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

Ladybug can’t move. She can’t speak. She can’t—

“I feel like I hurt her,” he says. “But I was just… I can’t stop freaking out.” He rumbles—his self-soothing purr sounds different than his happy one. “Wasn’t I supposed to enjoy it?”

Ladybug’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Chat chuckles again. “Sorry,” he says. “I know it sounds stupid.”

Ladybug feels the corners of her eye grow wet. He—he doesn’t know. He’s blaming himself, and he _doesn’t know_.

“Chaton,” she croaks. “It’s—it’s not…” Her voice cracks. “Chat, I think…”

“Yeah,” he says, staring towards the lights of Notre Dame. “Not a big deal, right?”

“ _Not a big deal?_ ” It’s like there’s a well inside her, except instead of water it’s full of flames, and everything has just come roaring out. He twists to stare at her, horror in his eyes, but she can’t stop herself—not once it’s already started. “Chaton, you’ve been—you were _raped_!”

Chat’s whole body jerks, and she hears his breath begin to come ragged. “ _What_?” he gasps. “No, that—no, men… men can’t…” He chokes. “That… doesn’t happen to guys…”

…Ladybug wants to murder someone. She’s not sure if it’s this girl, or Chat’s parents, or his teachers, or _whoever put him in this position_ but she knows that _someone needs to die._ “Did you have sex?” she says.

“I—yeah?” Chat responds, his eyes wide.

“Did you _want_ to?”

He swallows. “It’s—it’s that simple?” he says.

Ladybug purses her lips, trying to hold back the tears, and nods.

Chat’s chest shudders. “I—oh Kwamis,” he breathes. “I… I was… I was…”

She can see it. There’s something constructed around him, a delicate shell of self-lies that he’s been carefully building for the last few hours to keep himself from falling apart, and she can see it beginning to shake. Bits of the frame are breaking loose. She has only seconds until he collapses, until he breaks.

She reaches out to hug him, to _hold_ him, but then— _she can’t touch him_. If she touches him he’ll break and she’ll only make it worse and she _doesn’t know what to do._ What do you do when your partner, your other half, the man you trust with your life, is… is… she’s not prepared for this. _She never prepared for this._

She flings her yo-yo upward in a blind panic. “Lucky _Charm_!”

The box that lands in her arms is deceptively heavy, and she immediately recognizes the weight of it—she has one of these herself. She rips it open, desperate spandex fingers tearing into cardboard, and yanks the gravity blanket free of the box as the cardboard scatters into the wind. “Here,” she gasps. “Take the blanket—”

She doesn’t even finish her sentence before her whimpering partner rips the blanket from her hands, swaddling himself in it and rocking back and forth as he begins to shake. Her heart cracks at the sight as her normally brash, confident kitty tries to force down his sounds of distress, tries to stay quiet, tries to—

“Minou,” she sobs, holding herself because she can’t hold him. “You have to let yourself cry.”

“I can’t,” he gasps. “Not—supposed to.”

Her eyelid twitches, and her vision fills with flames. Not _supposed_ to? Who—who _taught_ him that? She’s known Chat’s home life is bad, but… but… _this_? _Not supposed to cry?_

“I am going to murder everyone who ever hurt you,” she growls before she can stop herself.

Chat’s head snaps around, his pupils wide enough to nearly obliterate his irises. “I—Ladybug, I…”

He’s still shaking. He needs help. He needs _support_.

“ _Murder_ ,” she says, doubling down. Shingles crack under her knuckles. “ _ **No one gets to hurt my partner.**_ ”

He chokes again, looking away.

“Minou,” she whispers, her arms shaking with the effort of not hugging him. “I’m not going to judge you for crying.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then he breaks.

* * *

“It wasn’t her fault,” he gasps as soon as he can speak again.

Ladybug’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing. She’s too busy imagining creative scenarios for murder for this girl, whoever she is. And steadfastly ignoring the fact that her earrings are only down to three spots.

“I…” Chat swallows, clutching the weighted red blanket close around his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything. She didn’t know.”

“Not saying ‘no’ doesn’t mean you said ‘yes’,” Ladybug murmurs.

Chat doesn’t acknowledge her words. “She’s… she was…” he says, his eyes far away. “Daughter. Of one of Father’s clients…” He trails off, swallows. “I shouldn’t be talking about this,” he says. “Civilian stuff.”

Ladybug pulls her knee into her chest. “Tell me,” she says.

Chat looks at her with wide eyes. “Are… are you sure?”

Ladybug nods.

Chat swallows. “She—I was at a party,” he says. “Work event. Father said…” He chokes. “I was supposed to… keep her entertained.”

Ladybug gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. _Keep her entertained_. Such an innocuous phrase… and yet, so horrifying in context.

“She…” Chat hiccups. “She was doing that thing girls do when they like you, you know?” He waves his hand. “Hanging on you, t-touching…”

Ladybug’s skin burns, and it’s all she can do not to choke on her own rage. “Chat…” she says, “that’s… that’s not normal.”

Chat stops breathing. “…what?” he says, his voice weak.

“Do you—do people do that to you a lot?” she says.

Chat shrugs. “All the time,” he says. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s _assault_ , Chat!” Ladybug cries.

Chat’s jaw goes slack. “I—I thought that was just flirting,” he says.

…

Well.

That explains a lot.

“Chaton,” she says as her earrings tick down to two spots, “you’re allowed to not want people touching you.” She swallows. “Did your parents never tell you you could say no?”

Chat’s ears droop. “I’m pretty sure Father would yell at me if I did,” he whispers. Then he suddenly flicks his gaze back up to her. “W-wait,” he says, panic in his voice. “I’ve been—I keep… like, with you…”

Ladybug bites her lip. This was not a discussion she ever wanted to have with him, but…. “…Yeah,” she admits. “I—look, I enjoy most of your affection?” She swallows. “But… you get… uncomfortably romantic a lot. Especially when I’ve asked you not to.”

Chat stares at her, horror in his eyes.

“You… do push my boundaries,” she says, looking away from him and clutching her elbow.

Chat whimpers. “Oh,” he says. “Oh cats, I—I’m sorry, my—Ladybug, I swear to you, I didn’t—I _didn’t know.”_ He’s looking anywhere but her face now. “I—if I’d—”

“Chaton,” she murmurs. “Look at me.”

He meets her eyes, fear splashed across his face.

“I know,” she says, as reassuringly as she can. “I know, and—well, it’s… it’s not _okay_ , but… if you promise to work on it…”

He blinks. “You’re not… mad at me?” he says.

Ladybug shakes her head. “Not anymore,” she says.

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Ladybug steels herself, sucks in her lip, and speaks. “If you told your father what happened,” she says, “how would he react?”

Chat’s ears flatten against his skull, and he curls up even smaller.

She doesn’t need to hear his words to know. But if he doesn’t admit it…

“Chaton,” she says, prodding him gently with her words.

“He’d blame me,” Chat whispers. “And if I tried to tell anyone else, he’d—he’d—”

They’re interrupted by the sound of her earring beeping its last spot.

Chat looks at her. “You should go,” he says, his voice torn. He clearly doesn’t want her to. He clearly needs her to stay. And with as bad as his home life is, the decision is easy.

“I’m not leaving,” she says, her voice shaking. She’s terrified, but she knows this is what she has to do. She can’t help Chat if she doesn’t know who he is.

“What?” he says. “My—Ladybug, this, you—are you sure about this?”

Ladybug smiles. “You’ve always protected me, Minou,” she says. “Let me protect you.”

He sobs. “Ladybug?”

“Princess,” she corrects. “Tikki? Spots off.”


	2. Partners

There are a lot of things that Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows about Adrien Agreste, but one of the most important is that he’s a gentleman. Adrien is kind, polite: he goes out of his way to make his friends feel appreciated, to make sure everyone else is comfortable. He takes it to a fault, even—outside of the mask, he constantly and consistently sacrifices his own happiness and comfort for the sake of the people he cares about, even if they don’t deserve it. Until one hour ago, when she’d learned just who was under the mask, Marinette had believed that Adrien was pathologically incapable of being selfish.

Which is why the argument over who gets the bed is so concerning. Because what should have taken fifteen minutes of Adrien refusing to kick Marinette out of her own bed instead results in him folding after barely a minute.

Adrien is in no condition to share a bed with anyone. They hate it, but they both know, even if they don’t speak it: he won’t feel safe unless he has space to himself, and he won’t sleep if he doesn’t feel safe. Moreover, Marinette is a fidgety sleeper, and if she touches him in the middle of the night…

The ideal situation would be for him to go home, to sleep in his own bed, but it’s easy enough to know why that’s not an option. His house isn’t safe. His room is his father’s space, not his. Nino doesn’t know what happened, he’ll push, he’ll ask questions that Adrien isn’t ready for. Adrien needs privacy, he needs space, he needs—he needs…

He’s grown too much. The chaise is too small for him. Still, she can tell he doesn’t want to force her out of her bed; he offers to take the chaise, of course, because that’s what he does. He’s a gentleman.

But when Marinette insists Adrien take the bed, and that she’ll sleep on the chaise, he folds. Too quickly. That sets off alarm bells.

Marinette lies awake on the chaise, covered in her spare sheets, waiting and listening to Adrien’s wet, ragged breathing. Every time his breath catches, her heart jolts; what’s happened to him is beyond unfair. It’s monstrous.

And she can’t stop watching for butterflies.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Adrien’s breathing slows and deepens. The tightness in her chest loosens as she realizes he’s gone to sleep. The worst of it—the first night—is over.

As soon as she’s certain he can’t hear her, she turns over and slams her head into her pillow. “Stupid,” she hisses, clutching the pillow and smashing it soundlessly into her face with every word. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She chokes, sobs, collapses.

“Marinette?” Tikki says, flitting over from the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Marinette looks up at Tikki. Her chest feels like tattered tissue paper, her eyes are heavy. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she whispers.

Tikki tilts her head in confusion. “About what?”

Marinette closes her eyes. “He—this wasn’t about me,” she says. “I mean, I know he _asked_ , but—but he was already hurting, I didn’t need to—to dump that on him—”

Tikki presses against Marinette’s cheek, squeezing. “Breath, Marinette,” she says.

Marinette shakes her head, swallows. “I picked the worst time for it, didn’t I?” she croaks. “He was—telling him how he’d hurt me when _he’d just been—just been…_ ”

Suddenly a black blob is in front of her face. “Hey Pigtails,” Plagg says. “If you don’t stop beating yourself up, _I’m going to hairball in your shoes._ ”

Marinette boggles—it’s like an entire hardboiled egg is stuck in her throat. Her eyes are burning. “…What?”

“You know Chat,” Plagg says, “but I know Adrien.” He flits forward, bops Marinette on the nose, then spirals back to a few inches in front of her face. “And I need you to trust me on something.”

Marinette bites her lip, tries not to whimper. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to hold herself together.

Plagg swallows, his eyes flicking to Tikki before settling back on Marinette’s. “Adrien is used to people lying to him—keeping secrets from him,” he says in that croaking voice that Marinette has only heard maybe four times in her life. “Yes, you _did_ hurt him—”

Guilt lances through Marinette’s heart like molton rock spraying from a crack in the ground, burning her lungs.

Plagg and Tikki are pressed against her cheeks, and Plagg is continuing as if there wasn’t even any kind of interruption. “—but you gotta understand: keeping it from him _would have hurt worse_.”

“I shouldn’t have—” Marinette begins.

Plagg butted his forehead against her cheekbone. “ _You showed you trusted him,”_ he hissed. “I don’t think you know how _big_ that is for him.”

Tikki sniffles. “You really care about him, don’t you.”

Plagg’s eyes drift toward the desk. “I really care about all of them,” he says, his voice somewhere very far away. “That’s why it always hurts.” For a moment, he’s back two hundred years ago—Marinette can see in his eyes that he’s not seeing her desk, or her computer, at all. He’s seeing something else—someone he lost, maybe.

“Plagg’s right.” Adrien’s voice fractures the silence, erupting, hushed, from on top of her bed.

Marinette shrieks, all of her muscles contracting at once, launching her from the chaise to spill onto the floor, all limbs and loose hair. “A-Adrien?” she stammers. “You’re awake?”

For a moment, he says nothing—just long enough for Marinette to think she’s imagined it—then, sheepishly: “Yeah.”

Marinette bites her lip, trying to hold in tears. “How… how much of that did you hear?”

Adrien sighs, and she hears him turning over, his body getting slightly closer. “Most of it.”

“Adrien…” she chokes. “I—I never… I _never_ wanted to hurt you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you either, Princess,” Adrien says, his voice wet. She hears the rustling of his body crawling over her sheets, and he pokes his head over the side of the bed. She can see his face, red and puffy. “I just—” His voice breaks. “Th-thank you,” he says. “For… telling me. The truth.”

She looks into his eyes, the deepest green and the soul behind them that she knows so well, and she knows. “Adrien Agreste,” she says, the same conviction in her voice that she had that day on the tower five years ago, the very first day of the rest of her life, the day she swore to protect Paris with every breath left in her body. “I will never lie to you again.”

Adrien swallows, eyes wet. “Mari—you’re the Guardian,” he says. “If you need to keep things from me—”

“ _No_ , Adrien!” she cries, cutting him off as her fist clenches. If _this_ is how he feels... there’s no way that’s acceptable. “ _We_ are the Guardians,” she says, not missing the way his eyes widen, and glisten, when she says _we. “Never. Again.”_

* * *

Nino Lahiffe hates mornings. No matter how much he sleeps, he always wakes up exhausted; he and Marinette have sort of made a game of comparing how much they’ve each overslept. Marinette used to live across the street from the school, so she usually “won;” now that they’ve gone from Collége to Lycèe, it’s anyone’s guess which one of them wakes up first. Or at least it was until Alya decided to start calling to wake them both up in the mornings.

When Nino wakes up the next morning to the sound of a _text_ tone instead of Alya’s ring, it takes him a moment to realize that something’s weird about it. He rolls over in bed, flopping his arm over to his phone, and holds it close enough so he doesn’t need his glasses, letting the words on the screen unblur into a very strange message.

> **Nettie:** hey nino something really bad happened to Adrien yesterday I need your help to make sure nobody touches him without asking first

He stares at his phone, blinking the “sand” out of his eyes, wondering if he’s still half-asleep, if he’s dreaming this.

It takes him a second to process, and then—“ _something really bad happened to Adrien.”_

His fingers are dancing across the keyboard before he’s even had time to think.

> **Nino:** what happened?

He shakes his head, clearing the fog out of his brain, and sits up in bed, reaching for his glasses and sliding them onto his face, taking another look at Marinette’s text. The message is definitely real—he’s not imagining it.

He feels his pulse speed up as he waits for the response, but nothing comes for a full minute. Then his heart leaps as he sees the “…” of Marinette typing—then collapses as it vanishes again. Then:

> **Nettie:** he wants to tell you in person
> 
> **Nettie:** hes worried you might get akumatized if he tells you over text

Nino’s esophagus seizes and he feels a burning in his mouth. _Akumatized?_ He’s only been that six times, and _three_ of those were in the first year of Hawkmoths’ reign over Paris, before Mayor Bourgeois started subsidizing therapy and anger management for all Parisians under the public safety budget and Nino’s old class had gotten a crash course in conflict resolution. He hasn’t been butterflied in almost a year and a half now, and considering that the last time was after he saw a mother _hitting her child in public_ , the fact that Adrien thought he’d get Akumatized over whatever happened was a _very bad sign._

Then something else she said process, and he narrows his eyes, rolling up out of bed and laying his feet onto the carpeted floor. “He _wants,”_ she said. Not _wanted_.

> **Nino:** wiat is he with you?

> **Nettie:** he spent the night

Nino’s thumbs freeze over his keyboard.

> **Nino:** what the fuck?

> **Nettie:** I promise we’ll axplaij as much of it as we can when we get to school
> 
> **Nettie:** it’s too complicated to get into over text

> **Nino:** shit. okay
> 
> **Nino:** I’ll see you in an hour?

> **Nettie:** you know it

Nino swallows, sliding his fingertips under his glasses and pressing them into his sinuses. He can feel—well, everything feels terrible. It usually does. But today the pressure on his brain is yelling something else. Something is hanging over him, sometihng is going to go wrong, he can _tell_.

He backs out of his conversation with Marinette and opens up a new one as he begins to get dressed.

> **Cara Mia💋:** hey babe i need a favor

> **Foxy Mama:** holy crap you’re awake?
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** where’s the apocalypse

> **Cara Mia💋:** adrien’s place

> **Foxy Mama:** …
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** I swear I was kidding

> **Cara Mia💋:** I know babe
> 
> **Cara Mia💋:** listen i need you to run interfernece on Chloé today
> 
> **Cara Mia💋:** code Lila
> 
> **Cara Mia💋:** don’t let her near Adrien

> **Foxy Mama:** Code LILA? Nino, what happened?

> **Cara Mia💋:** don’t know yet

> **Foxy Mama:** scale of one to “lila is back in town and has the butterfly miraculous”

> **Cara Mia💋:** where on that scale is “adrien spent the nigth at mari’s and she isn’t freaking out”

> **Foxy Mama:** …
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** oh jesus

> **Cara Mia💋:** shes’ in class president mode

> **Foxy Mama:** oh JESUS
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** if things are that bad he’s gonna need so many hugs today

> **Cara Mia💋:** might not
> 
> **Cara Mia💋:** nettie said “NOBODY touches him”

> **Foxy Mama:** what?
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** but adrien LOVES touching people
> 
> **Foxy Mama:** she’s gotta be overreacting

> **Cara Mia💋:** didn’t you say you weren’t going to make that excuse anymore

> **Foxy Mama:** …fuck you

> **Cara Mia💋:** love you too

> **Foxy Mama:** I hate hwen you’re rigth

> **Cara Mia💋:** apparently you also lose the ability to spell

> **Foxy Mama:** eat shit

> **Cara Mia💋:** fun fact did you know that foxes do that

> **Foxy Mama:** your fun facts are never very fun

> **Cara Mia💋:** yes because i have ✨depression✨

> **Foxy Mama:** you can’t use that as an excuse for everything

> **Cara Mia💋:** watch me

It’s Nino who slings his hat onto his head, but once the hat is on, it’s Carapace who’s wearing it. He’s got a fight coming up, and that makes things easier—even the last part of his morning routine, the part he hates most. He slides open a drawer on his desk and pulls out a meal bar. Marinette would glare him to death if she knew, but after his parents realized it was the only way he could manage to choke down breakfast…

Well. Shield or no shield, he’s ready to place himself between Adrien and the world.


	3. Defender

Alya really needs to hire more forum moderators. Yesterday's livestream had sparked a firestorm that she barely managed to calm, _and_ she'd needed to toss around a few suspensions to do it. A few of the Ladyblog forum's most prolific posters are sending her very angry emails that they've lost posting privileges. But even though she's started accepting ads, it's barely enough to cover server costs, much less hiring any additional help—the costs for running what has become Paris' largest news blog out of her parents' apartment are _astronomical_.

Still, she wishes she _could_ hire another moderator, because this _MovieGodRockStar_ is _really_ getting on her nerves, and she could use a break.

> **MovieGodRockStar:** I'm just saying
> 
> **MovieGodRockStar:** the fact that they were both so quick to throw around those terms indicates that they both probably work in fashion.
> 
> **LadyblogOfficial:** @ _MovieGodRockStar_ Ladyblog rules forbid speculation on the heroes' identities. This is your final warning.
> 
> **MovieGodRockStar:** Hey, chill, babe.
> 
> **MovieGodRockStar:** Anyway don't you think that's kind of hypocritical?
> 
> **MovieGodRockStar:** You used to throw around that kind of speculation all the time
> 
> **LadyblogOfficial:** I was a child and I made mistakes because I didn't know better. The forum rules are clear.
> 
> **MovieGodRockStar:** don't be such an uptight bitch.

Alya is barely able to fight down the rush of pure acidic rage that crushes in on her temples, and takes a moment to breathe. She knows this kind of guy—he thinks he's invulnerable, that he's anonymous and that even if she bans him, he can just spoof another email address and come in with a new username. Luckily for her... she has Markov.

> **LadyblogOfficial:** @ _Robustus_ !Ban@MovieGodRockStar

Instantly, MovieGodRockStar's posts begin to disappear, deleted one by one in reverse post order. His account locks—and so do his IP address, cookies, and common information. Anyone who attempts to log into his account, or tries to make a new account from his IP or from one of his devices, will find themselves locked out.

> **LadyblogOfficial:** MovieGodRockStar has been banned for multiple forum rule violations and all contributions from him have been deleted. There is to be no speculation on the identities of the identities of the heroes. Anyone who violates this rule will be banned from the Ladyblog forums for life.
> 
> **LB_Fan:** Don't you think that's a little harsh?
> 
> **LadyblogOfficial:** Hawkmoth reads these forums. If we give him the information he needs, even by accident, Ladybug could die.
> 
> **ChootNoot:** Hawkmoth what
> 
> **Noir25:** Wait he does?
> 
> **Scarlet_Lady:** First i've heard of it
> 
> **Ladybloggin':** you are all such noobs he's been reading for years
> 
> **Ladynoir12:** yeah the heroes protecc us we gotta protecc them

Alya sighs, locking her phone and resting the back of her head against the exposed brick. The sunshine on her face is a pleasant burn, and the fox in her wants to roll over and soak it into her belly and just... nap. Ladybloggin' and Ladynoir12 are both responsible forum members, she can trust them to keep a lid on things while she takes a break for class.

Maybe she should bring them on as moderators. She'll have to talk that over with Nino later—he tends to be the voice of reason to her impulsivity.

Over the past four years, she's talked Marinette through pretty much every Adrien-related disaster scenario the girl's scattered mind could come up with. From "Adrien secretly hates you" to "Adrien is a robot in human skin" to "Adrien is Hawkmoth," but in all of those scenarios—well, Adrien staying the night at her place _has_ been a possibility that got floated, but not one Marinette was ever going to be prepared for. And just yesterday the Marinette had nearly passed out hyperventilating because Adrien had complimented the line on a skirt she was drawing. So if something happened to Adrien that was bad enough to bypass all of that and send Marinette into Class-President-Protective-mode despite the fact that the boy she'd been crushing on for _a quarter of her life_ had _spent the night in her bedroom?_

Something bad is going on. Something very, very bad. Something very, very—

Adrien _doesn't want anyone touching him?_ Adrien, no-sense-of-personal-space, I-want-cuddles-and-will-lie-on-you-to-get-them Adrien? What the hell had _happened?_

She feels a familiar body slide onto the bench next to her. "Hey babe," Nino says, squeezing an arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Everything all right?"

She sighs and leans against his body, her eyes fluttering open and staring softly into his. "Got into another fight on the forums," she says. "Had to superban someone."

"Oh, yikes," Nino says, cuddling her with both arms straight down. "You always hate doing that."

Alya nods, then wrinkles her nose. "You smell like meal bar," she says.

"Bad morning," Nino says. "Mari's text didn't help."

"Mmm, I'll bet," Alya says, sinking her head down into his lap. "What did she even say?"

Nino shakes his head. "Wouldn't tell me," he says, looking across the courtyard. "She wanted to tell me in person... in case I got Akumatized."

Alya's eyelids fly wide. "Jesus _fuck_ ," she says, remembering the drums that drove the children of the Arrondissement into a berserk frenzy and attacking every adult on sight. "You—last time you got Akumatized—"

"Yeah," Nino says. "This is gonna be bad."

* * *

Alya has reserved a spot for Adrien near the back, in the corner furthest from the door where nobody is likely to bother them (barring the daughter of one disgraced former mayor). Predictably, he arrives early for class, standing awkwardly and rubbing at tired and reddened eyes. Less predictably, Marinette is with him, standing _not at all_ like how she usually stands when she's around Adrien. Marinette is never awake this early, this class is halfway across campus from her first-period art elective, _and_ she has repeatedly refused to enter this classroom, stating that "integral calculus is the devil and I refuse to let it kill me," despite the fact that she is basically a wizard at trigonometry.

The only conclusion Alya can come to is that Marinette walked Adrien here in order to protect him. That's a very Marinette thing to do, but she's _never_ been confident enough to do it for Adrien. And even at this distance, Alya can tell that there's not a single tremor in Marinette's entire body. Under normal circumstances, her shipper heart would be cheering. Right now? She's _extremely_ worried.

She waves, catching Adrien's attention.

The way he and Marinette both visibly sink with relief when they see her does _not_ help set her mind at ease. Marinette tries to walk Adrien back toward her, but she keeps reaching out to him, then pulling back—she's forgetting not to touch him.

Adrien turns, takes her hand, and squeezes with a wince and a smile.

"You'll be okay?" Marinette says.

"I'll—I'm—yeah," Adrien stammers.

Marinette looks at Alya. "Nino told you?"

Alya grimaces. "Not much in the way of details, but yeah."

Marinette gives Adrien the softest look Alya's ever seen—one that not only puts to shame every soft look Nino has ever given her, or every time Adrien has looked at her. And based on the way Adrien's blushing, he sees it too.

"Stay safe," Marinette says. "I can't do this without you."

"You and me against the world," Adrien says, smiling.

Marinette smiles back, then retreats out the door, waving.

Alya blinks, stunned. The way the two of them are interacting—if Alya didn't know any better, she'd expect 'you and me against the world' to come from people who'd been dating for years, not people who just yesterday couldn't carry on a conversation without one of them falling face-first into a trashcan. She shakes her head and leans up next to Adrien with a sly grin. "So what was thaaaaat aboouuut?"

Adrien flinches.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, stupid—stupid Alya, Nino had _told_ you and you just—agh, the whole reason why all of this is happening to begin with! Alya immediately retreats back to her seat, palms out and shame-bile rising in her throat. "Aw, _shit._ Sorry," she rasps. "Are you okay?"

He turns to her with a watery smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says.

Oh, no, she knows _that_ look. He's falling apart, and trying not to "make it anyone else's problem." She aches to cuddle him, to wrap him up, but she knows that'll only make things worse. "What even _happened_ to you?" she says.

The way he _looks_ at her—oh, God, he looks like he's about to rip his own heart out of his chest. "I, um," he begins. His face turns red, and he looks away, his eyes watering—but that's not embarrassment. That's—that's _shame_.

"A?" she says.

"I—I, um," he begins, his teeth worrying at his lip. His face is bone-white, his eyes wild, and he looks like he's choking on his tongue.

Alya bites her own lip. "Don't," she murmurs. "Adrien, if you can't tell me, _don't tell me._ "

Adrien squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers. "I—I _can_ ," he says. "I can do—"

"No," Alya says. "Adrien, you always do this—" She reaches out, then freezes, her hand suspended over his shoulder. She can’t touch—and—and oh, dammit. Whatever happened to him _wasn’t_ his fault. She has to remember that. "You don't have to do something just because I asked you to."

Adrien blinks at her. “What?” he says. “But—but if you asked—”

“Then you’re _allowed to say no,_ ” Alya says.

Adrien stares at her for a moment, eyes like an herbivore faced with the incomprehensible front of a train, then he chokes and begins to sob.

Alya's stomach drops as she realizes that she’s gone too far, _again_ . "Adrien?" she says. Shit, she got so caught up in Mama Alya—she’s been _trying_ to get a handle on that—

"I," Adrien says. "I—I." He looks at her with wet eyes. "Marinette—Mari said the same thing."

* * *

In the absence of touch, or any idea of what happened, Alya still has absolutely no idea how to comfort him. With as many times as she’s stuck her foot in her mouth already, she’s decided the best thing to do is to keep quiet. Thankfully, Adrien has managed to calm himself down—mostly—by the time class starts. He's still sniffling and shaking, but he seems together enough to make it through class.

And then Chloé walks in fifteen minutes late, all designer cashmere and leather, 400 euro sunglasses covering half her face... and Adrien's entire body stiffens, bleaching from face to fingers.

Alya's eye twitches. She glad she's sequestered the two of them in the farthest corner, where she's occupying the only seat next to him.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Madamoiselle Bourgeois," Monsieur Laurent says, turning from the board to look at her.

"Oh, shut it," Chloé says, raising her sunglasses with leather-gloved fingers so that he can see her roll her eyes. "Nobody cares if I'm a little bit late."

The entire class grumbles as Laurent's lips pull back in a silent snarl. "Take your seat, Mademoiselle Bourgeois, before I send you to the headmaster's office."

Chloé smirks, shouldering her purse—which Alya is fairly certain is the one that Marinette had called "the ugliest and most expensive piece of crap ever produced"—and casts her eyes around the room, locking her gaze on Adrien, and, with a grin, struts toward the back.

Alya's muscles tighten as Chloé approaches. She chews on her lip, fingers tightening into a fist, as Laurent begins speaking again.

Chloé stops, crossing her arms. "Move, Césaire," she says.

Alya sets her jaw. "Bad day, Bourgeois," she says. "Walk away right now."

Adrien's fingers dig into the surface of his desk, and Alya's shoulder blades tighten.

"I'm sitting next to my Adrichou, whether you like it or not," Chloé says.

Alya stands, just a little, not quite getting out of her seat. "Nobody is allowed to touch Adrien today," she says. "His request."

Chloé smiles. "Oh, that's not meant for me," she says, stepping around behind Alya. "He's just finally understanding how much better he is than—"

She lays a hand on Adrien's shoulder.

Alya barely catches what happens next. There's a noise that's somewhere between a thwap and a crack, a blinding blur of motion, and the next thing Alya knows Adrien is standing and Chloé is not. His fist is outstretched, and his eyes are wide, wild, feral. Chloé is holding her cheek, staring up at him in shock.

The entire class is silent.

"...Adrien?" Alya says, hushed.

Adrien shudders. "I—I don't—" he says, staring down at Chloé in horror. At his hand. "What did—"

"Monsieur Agreste—?" Laurent begins, but he barely gets a word out before Adrien has shoved Alya aside with his shoulder and bolted, breath shallow and rapid, down the aisle toward the classroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick clarification: no, it was not Chloé who did it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr.](http://www.galahadwilder.tumblr.com)


End file.
